


Twilight

by Frostburn



Series: Shadows and Moonlight [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostburn/pseuds/Frostburn
Summary: Set in theShadows and Moonlightuniverse.Monroe had been quiet after her narrow escape and had remained so for the last four years. The nightmares hardly visited now, and Peter found small amounts of brief joy at the little things—like this foray into research for answers simply for the sake of learning.It had all started as a whim. In fact, it was a question Stiles had asked one lazy evening during one of  their many pack gatherings in Derek’s loft, several years ago.Where did werewolves come from?





	1. Of the Search for Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant tags will be added as the story continues.
> 
> Going from the geographic information gleaned from the show, I'm setting the town as somewhere between Feather Falls and Hurleton.
> 
> The McCall Pack  
> 1\. Scott McCall  
> 2\. Malia Tate  
> 3\. Stiles Stilinski  
> 4\. Lydia Martin  
> 5\. Derek Hale  
> 6\. Kira Yukimura  
> 7\. Liam Dunbar  
> 8\. Hayden Romero  
> 9\. Mason Hewitt  
> 10\. Corey Bryant  
> 11\. Peter Hale  
> 12\. Theo Raeken  
> 13\. Nolan Holloway  
> 14\. Alec Jameson  
> 15\. Noah Stilinski  
> 16\. Melissa McCall  
> 17\. Chris Argent  
> 18\. David Geyer  
> 19\. Jenna Geyer  
> 20\. Noshiko Yukimura  
> 21\. Ken Yukimura  
> 22\. Jordan Parrish
> 
>  
> 
> Allies  
> 1\. Jackson Whittemore  
> 2\. Ethan Steiner  
> 3\. Braeden  
> 4\. Rafe McCall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant tags will be added as the story continues.
> 
> Going from the geographic information gleaned from the show, I'm setting Beacon Hills as somewhere between Feather Falls and Hurleton

 

It had all started as a whim. In fact, it was that one particular question Stiles had asked one lazy evening during one of their many pack gatherings in Derek’s loft, several years ago. That was the one that started it all. Maybe it was the wolfsbane in Peter's beer. Maybe it was just Stiles picking up topics at random with no apparent train of thought discernible to anyone else but him. Maybe it was just plain curiousity. Maybe he was bored. But Peter had to admit that he could have just ignored the random question and moved on to other things to talk about.

He couldn’t. In both senses of the word. He couldn’t find an actual answer on how werewolves originated. And that had led to a realisation a day later: he couldn’t ignore the question.

_Where did werewolves come from?_

He was smooth enough to mask the moment of pique engendered by the question by giving the young man a small smile and a cheeky wink. Stiles gusted a snort in reply and lolled back on his position where he was resting his head on Lydia’s thighs while the redhead was seated leaning against the bookshelf leading through a book on entomology. No one else picked up on the topic the question had introduced

After that, over the next few intervening months—years, even—came a series of off-the-cuff questions related to that one. The one that started it all.

Between rabid hunters, and supernatural threats—let’s not even include wider-scale happenings in the world like aliens attacking New York and London—there was never a clear opportunity to look into it.

Peter, despite his seemingly distant position within the pack, found himself time and again looking for the answers to those questions whenever he could squeeze the time in. He often pride himself on his extensive knowledge of his nature, and his relationship with the supernatural. In this, even Talia had several times acknowledged him to be her superior. Which was why he found himself frustrated by the same dead end he encountered whenever he applied himself to this venture. Which was why he never told anyone about his venture into the subject.

There had been good leads found. But each time he chased them down; every time he felt that he was closer to the answer, something would turn up that made his previous efforts almost pointless.

All the sources seem to have no idea on how to get to the ultimate answer. Had Peter been the fanciful sort he would’ve thought that outside forces were actively working to stymie him. But not such case here. His contacts were hale and hearty. The sources and materials had been extensively examined to be free from tampering.

Almost all had led to the same path. It can be boiled down to the line he had copied down from an ancient scroll. So ancient that the original vellum had surrendered and split at several points. However, some past custodian had been proactive enough to transcribe the text onto several copies and his efforts towards the same had been retained by the following successors.

The line he had copied made reference to what Peter assumed was a geographical spot. But even with his wealth of knowledge, and extensive travels he failed to find anything matching the location, or even matching it in description—fancy description notwithstanding.

_Shadivari._

Which now, presently, found him on a small flight to Seattle. His contact had connected him with one of his associates working at one of the museums. Peter decided that he will check in to his hotel, then go the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art the day after. He was in no hurry. There were no pressing concerns in Beacon Hills. The pack has matured into a solid cohesive one—albeit rambunctious, but then they were mostly werewolves. Former pack members Hayden and Kira have returned, as well as allies like Theo and Braeden and renewed their bonds. He found himself chuckling often at Kira’s sometimes scatterbrained behaviour that reminded him of a younger, female version of Stiles. The delightfully morally grey Theo had been firmly leaning towards the lighter side of the spectrum, but he seemed to be content with his current lot. Even their latest member, Alec, had came into his own, forming firm friendships with Liam, Mason and Corey.

Peter had been pleasantly surprised that he was finally able to get closer to the feeling of peace and contentment that Kate Argent had destroyed. Monroe had been quiet after her narrow escape and remained so for the last four years. The nightmares hardly visited now, and he found small amounts of brief joy at the little things—like this foray into research for answers simply for the sake of learning.

Peter shifted slightly in his seat, intending to grab whatever rest he could and savour the days as they came. Things have proven to have found a way of turning sour far too quick for his liking quickly enough. If anything else he was convinced that moments of leisure and respite should be fully utilised. He allowed himself a small smile at the cynical thought as he closed his eyes for a short nap.

 

 


	2. Of Answers Found and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter found his answer. It was not quite what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant tags will be added as the story continues.
> 
> Going from the geographic information gleaned from the show, I'm setting the town as somewhere between Feather Falls and Hurleton.

 

 _Sharifah Anisah_.

Peter reread the name he had noted down on his phone. He tested the pronunciation softly to himself, liking the sibilant and smooth flow of it linger on his tongue. He inferred from the name that she was most likely not a local, possibly Muslim.

“Peter Hale?” a clear, contralto voice called out to him, followed by the soft clicking of kitten heels on the marble floors.

“Last time I checked,” he replied breezily.

The woman who approached him was ... striking. Smooth, teak-like complexion. Long, legs encased in an emerald green pencil skirt. Her fitted ivory satin shell drew his eyes towards the daring decolletage. Her face is a smooth oval, dominated by large, dark brown eyes and thick curling lashes. Her black hair was tucked in a low chignon, freesias braided into the arrangement.

Peter smiled as he drew his eyes quickly up his face. Her small smile didn’t show if she had noted his Frank appraisal or what her feelings were towards it. Peter supposed she was used to it by now. He held his hand out.

She took his proffered hand, the handshake firm and professional. “Sharifah Anisah,” she introduced herself. “But please, call me Nisa. It’s much easier all around.”

Peter nodded at that. She turned and beckoned with a slight tilt of her head for him to follow her.

“Your request to view the original vellum has raised some eyebrows,” Nisa began as she guided him towards a door that led down a short corridor. “The museum rarely receives such requests relating to your query but we’re more than happy to accommodate.” She threw him a sly smile, adding, “Especially in light of the sizable donation our mutual acquaintance had generously provided.”

“Money does make things easier,” Peter noted drily.

The woman laughed. A husky, low laugh that sent a small sliver of heat down his belly. His inner wolf flicked his ears, liking the low timbre of her vocal register and found it soothing. “You won’t find me in disagreement there,” she agreed.

They have now approached what Peter surmised was their destination. A door with a biometric access panel. Nisa placed her thumb and the door unlocked after reading her credentials. She ushered him in and closed the door behind them. A soft hiss told him the pneumatics had secured the lock.

His hackles rose as he turned slowly towards the woman, expecting a threat. She had ignored him however, busying herself with wrestling a large flat receptacle—a portfolio he later realised—out of a secured locker. She brought it up towards the table dominating the centre of the room and extracted a keyboard panel from a sliding platform underneath it. Pressing certain characters made the table split and open in the middle, the two halves retracting and sliding out before coming level with the centre that was now exposed. TheThe centre of the table contained a low display case, with the ancient vellum preserved within.

Peter inhaled. Excited, in spite of him expecting this to be another dead end. Nisa was watching him carefully, her form still and unmoving. Something suddenly clicked in his mind as he drew his breath.

He couldn’t get a hint of any scent of her.

Nisa placed the portfolio between them, spreading it open on one of the leaves of the table. They were drawings. Landscapes. Forbidding terrains. Windswept moors. A lone mountain surrounding by gently rolling plains and shadowed valleys. Some were done in ink. Others in charcoal or pencils. They were beautifully done, the artist having captured the life-like quality only a master could.

“Before I answer any questions you have,” Nisa said, rocking back on her heels. “Yes, I have no scent.”

Peter started. He opened his mouth to steer the conversation away from the topic she had introduced but she held a hand up at him, with a long-suffering look that he felt did not bode well for him. “You’re not the first were I’ve met,” she cut him off. “Our mutual acquaintance assured me that you are not a threat and I have no reason to doubt his words. You, on the other hand ...”

Peter nodded in understanding at the implied silence. “You’re correct. I'm a werewolf. I’m only here for research and will be on my way once I’m done. It’s not my intention to use any of the information contained in a harmful way.”

Nisa laughed, this time her tone was openly mocking. “Oh no, Mr. Hale,” she said, shaking her head in her mirth. “I don’t doubt your intent. But only the rabbit hole you’re about to find yourself in.”

She motioned to the scroll. “The original vellum. Examined and verified to be approximately 7000 BCE. The earliest form of writing previously found was Sumerian, which was a much later civilization.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Which only came about around 3000 BCE,” he said softly. “And yet they were using the same logographic styles of the Sumerians.”

“Preserved in clay, until it was accidentally discovered in a forgotten tomb in Jembdet Nasr.”

“But this was not scribed by the Sumerians,” Peter ventured.

“That would be the general consensus,” Nisa agreed.

“How can you be so sure?”

“The content was basically a war epic, in the manner of the Iliad,” Nisa explained. “However, the characters we expected to see—especially the divinities—were not ones that we would’ve associated with the Sumerians. Not even a close approximate. Some are names we would only encounter in later civilizations, some of which were so geographically distant it was doubtful that it was due to diaspora.”

“An unnamed, unknown civilization,” Peter breathed out. He felt a small chill running up his spine. The implications of this alone would stagger the world. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Nisa watched him carefully, understanding in her eyes. “That was more or less my reaction to this information as well,” she supplied. “Along with a fainting spell.”

Peter chuckled. “How did you tie into all this?” he asked, eyeing her shrewdly.

“Much later after I found out about it,” she answered cryptically.

She motioned to the scroll. Peter tracked the display, his eyes quickly finding the spot on the vellum that he had wanted to examine. There. It was the same name detailed in all the copies, no doubt about it. Shadivari.

“Shadivari,” he said. “That was the same name on all the copies, but I couldn’t find any close approximation of its description.”

“The land of eternal moonlight,” Nisa declaimed. “With it’s lone mountain shedding light on a realm of twilight.”

“That’s right,” Peter agreed. It was how the text had described it. “It doesn’t seem to exist.” He added with a shrug. “Or at least, if anyone knows they’re not telling.”

Instead of answering, Nisa pushed the drawings towards him. “I am going to dim the lights. Tell me what you can see in each of the drawings.”

Peter waited until the lights were low, so dim that for a human they would be effectively walking blind in such conditions. Not for him. He turned his attention to the first drawing, and gasped.

It was the one depicting the lone mountain surrounded by rolling plains. So life-like when he glanced at it earlier, the drawing now had literally come alive. The rolling plains seem to move, rotating around the mountain as a full moon slowly appeared on the horizon. The gentle glow of its light seemed to set the mountain ablaze, and it gently reflected the light towards its surroundings.

He wrested his eyes away, blinking. Surprised, he found himself crying without realising it. “What was that?” he asked, voice hoarse with some unwanted emotion. He realised that it was loss. Sorrow at the loss of such magical beauty.

“That,” Nisa answered gently, her voice soothing in the dark. “is Shadivari.”

“Is?” he repeated.

Nisa turned the lights back up, slowly so as not to disorient both their eyes. She nodded at him. “Is,” she confirmed. “As in, it exists, but no one would like to admit that it does.”

“Why?”

“Because it is irrefutable proof that humanity was never alone in this world. They never were.”

“And you’re one of them.”

“You’re correct.”

“What are you?”

“Fae.”

Peter tilted his head, slowly looking her up and down. She sighed, and folded her arms.

“Go ahead,” she murmured. “Take an edifying look.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Menace.” It was said good-naturedly that Peter smiled. “Just don’t expect me to vomit glitter or fart rainbows.”

Peter blinked, the unexpected usage of the second sentence jarring his mind before he guffawed. Oh, she’s a delightful one.

She had collected the drawings and secured them in the locker, beeping sounds signalling the locks were engaged. The tables were slowly coming up back to its original condition.

She escorted him to his car, keeping pace with him. Occasionally, her arms would brush against him as they walked but neither of them commented on it. Peter found that he quite liked her ease of manner. This is a woman who was not easily perturbed.

“I feel like I owe you lunch now,” he said as he straightened up from the low posture he had earlier. He followed her back to the room’s entrance and joined her again in the corridor, waiting as she exited.

“I have work, Mr. Hale,” she pointed out. “Dinner, on the other hand, is doable.”

“Dinner it is,” he agreed. “Shall we make it at eight?”

“Eight is good,” she nodded in agreement. “Text me your hotel info and I’ll come over.” She added quickly. “I live in the island. I much prefer the places available on the mainland.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

Nisa smiled, waving at him playfully before turning around to walk back to the museum.

He found himself watching the sway of her hips as she did, honestly enjoying the view unashamedly.

He couldn’t wait for tonight.

 


	3. Of Dinner and Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner. 
> 
> Peter learns the price it takes to enter the world of the Fae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant tags will be added as the story continues.
> 
> Going from the geographic information gleaned from the show, I'm setting Beacon Hills as somewhere between Feather Falls and Hurleton

 

“So how did you know Alec?” Peter asked, referring to their mutual acquaintance, as he and Nisa walked from his car to the restaurant. Canlis had come highly recommended by his hotel’s concierge.

Nisa glanced at him, a slow sideways look with her head tilted just so. Her burgundy lipstick complimented her complexion. The total effect sent another small curl of heat down his spine. The legendary Fae allure had not been idle hyperbole, he felt.

“He’s also Fae,” Nisa said with a small shrug.

The gesture made her pashmina slip slightly from her left shoulder—left bare by her ivory choli-inspired top that skimmed the lines of her figure before flaring out gently into a skirt with a modest hemline ending below her knees. Her black hair was down, the jet waves falling past her shoulders to the middle of her back. Peter deftly snagged the drooping pashmina and gently tugged it back up to its original position, drawing a soft murmured thanks from her.

“Another Fae?” Peter wondered softly. “Are there different types like what legends and folklore described, or ... ?”

“The former,” Nisa confirmed. She gave a quick look around—the restaurant building is just fifty metres away from them—before cautioning him, “But for now, let’s just enjoy our dinner. Tomorrow being Saturday, I have taken the liberty to arrange a meeting with one of our Elders.”

Peter nodded his assent. “Of course,” he agreed. He’s waited for answers this long, what’s another day to him? He allowed himself a reckless grin. “But for the sake of my burning curiousity, what type of Fae are you?” he whispered, leaning towards her—almost challenging.

She met his unspoken challenge, leaning towards him, the side of her neck a mere breath away from his jaw as she whispered, “The rarest kind.”

And then he was inundated by the sweet heady smell of ylang-ylang and myrrh. It sent him reeling slightly, and at the same time made his wolf perk up with definite interest at his reaction.

“What was that?” he gasped in surprise. Heat coiled in his belly, his arousal and interest piqued.

She smiled, leaning back and looking at him from under her lashes, her smile mysterious. Oh, Lauren Bacall couldn’t have found a better student, he thought to himself. “Tomorrow,” she promised, taking his hand in hers and leading him towards Canlis.

Dinner was a success, Peter found. Nisa was quite the conversationalist, her wit both subversive and dry, treading the fine line between flirtatious and saucy, and yet she did not hog their entire exchanges. Her line of success and winsome remarks invited him into sharing information about himself while ah did likewise.

He learned that Nisa was from Malaysia, a country he had visited once during his wild years while he was in his twenties in an attempt to sample all he could from the Orient. SheShe was of mixed heritage, a _mamak_ as the locals would have called it—being part Indian, and part Malay. As he had surmised earlier, she was a Muslim but by her own admission quite lax in her devotion. The last bit was said with a slight moue as if she was embarrassed by her own admission. Peter assured her that he's hardly religious himself and the subject of religion was out to rest for the remainder of the evening.

Nisa majored in fine arts for her degree locally and pursued art history for Master in Archeology and History of Art at Cagliari. He learned that she was quite the polyglot, being fluent in Malay, Tamil, Indonesian, Italian and Arabic.

Peter smiled inwardly, pleased at the success of the evening as their dinner wrapped up. He offered to drop her off but she demurred, citing that their plans tomorrow called for an early start and she had best allow him to rest for the night. As she got into her taxi, Peter felt his wolf’s slight distress at their parting. He assured himself that tomorrow morning will come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter glanced around him. The lightening sky heralded the coming of dawn as he took in the clearing Nisa had parked her Range Rover. He felt slightly unnerved, his skin almost tingling with the sensation of several ants crawling all over him. The cool mid-spring air was crisp but there was an almost infinitesimal tang of burnt ozone lingering. The whole sensation felt somewhat familiar, the faint threads of his memory drawing his musings to things that have passed before.

He had placed his call to his contact last night after he returned from their dinner. Despite what must have been quite the late hour in Boston, Alec Somerfelt welcomed his call, letting in with some inside humour lost on Peter that he prefers working nights. The Fae congratulated on his having found the answer and repeated Nisa’ cautionary word in keeping his findings to himself. Peter had pointed out with some acerbity that the Fae could have provided the answer himself. All he got in return was a pointed “I was not authorised to do so,” by the other man. “Besides,” the Fae continued, “Nisa has a much higher clearance, anyway.”

A secret world of mythical creatures, existing unknown and hidden from the outside world. With enough influence to span the continent with what seems to be a very defined power structure. And by what will happen today, Peter knew he had been vetted and been found worthy enough of invitation to learn more of their world. It was an almost daunting aspect of this quest of his, he thought wryly to himself.

As he drew his recollection back to the present, Peter realised why the unnerving sensation had felt so familiar. Magic, he realised. And powerful, too. His wolf practically cowered before the unnerving sensation, as of realising on a deeper level the kind of power that permeated the very air around him. The power that he could sense dwarfed that of even the Nemeton at its peak.

A soft tread to his left drew his attention to Nisa. The Fae was attired in a simple top, khakis, hiking boots, and a jacket to ward off the morning chill. Peter was dressed in similar hear, having been advised by Nisa the night before.

“Before we meet with the Elder,” Nisa began, “we will need to complete the initiation process.”

“Initiation process?”

“To become an _Ilmari-rakan_ , or Fae-friend,” Nisa replied.

“What does this process entails?”

“The process comprised of a threefold task,” Nisa answered. “Search, chase, and fight.” At Peter's motioned for her to elaborate, she continued, “The Search is to locate the entry through the protective barrier that surrounds this stretch of the forest. The Chase is for you to hunt me down as I guide you deep towards our hidden stronghold. The Fight is a physical combat between the two of us.”

“Ritual combat?”

“To the death.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, studying her face. His ears found that her heartbeat was steady; she was not lying. Or joking, for that matter. The gravity of his undertaking placed it in a different perspective as he turned it over in his head, his agile mind looking at it from several angles.

“You can turn back,” Nita said, gently. “I won't think less of you is you do so.”

“You won't,” Peter answered with some finality. “But I will. Let's do this.”

 

 

 


	4. Of Seeking and Chasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter on the hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Life kicked me in the balls and left me a gibbering wreck. What else is new, eh?
> 
> A short one for now but next chapter should be out by next Sunday.

Peter stood in front of the foliage. The dense growth of green stretched as far as he could see on either side. He extended his heightened senses, his inner wolf perking up at the prospect of a hunt. If he had a tail right now, it would be swishing with barely held impatience. The air felt thick and oppressive, as if layered with a miasma of foreign matter floating in the air. Magic, he realised. His senses unfurled, teasing out for the beginning of the faint border he was sure was nearby. 

There, he sensed it. A slight change from the crisp morning breeze to the marked thickness of the surrounding air. He advanced to the spot, feeling Nisa's gaze tracking him. Inwardly, he preened, his wolf excited about showing off his tracking skills. 

A small—almost infinitesimal—give in the magical warding caught his attention. Yes, this is where the doorway to the path would be. 

“Here,” he called out to Nisa. 

The fey smiled. “Well done,” she said. “Now comes the next part.”

“The chase?” Peter asked. “You do realised that us wolves are quite fast.”

She shot him a look that was almost pitying even as she laughingly told him, “Not when I have wings!”

Even with his reflexes, Peter was taken off-guard by the swift roundhouse kick she landed on his chest. The speed of the attack, as well as the surprising force behind it spoke of heretofore unknown physical attributes. As he went down, he managed to spy her wings ripping out through her jacket. Unfurling to its full size, they were about five handspans and dove grey in colour. She pushed off in a running leap through the opening he had spotted in one swift movement, leaving him breathless and dazed.

Speed, strength and wings, he noted sourly as he got to his feet and gave chase.

It was much more difficult to track an airborne quarry. The eddies of the wind tossed and twirled the scent around—quite like locating the source of a sound in a network of caves. However, Peter knew that she must have been keeping him in some visual capacity or another in order to track his progress. His keen nose picked up the scent of water. A large body of water. Perhaps a river. Feeling that it could be used as a navigation point, Peter made his way towards it following his nose. Patches of sunlight filtered down through the openings among the trees, dappling his surroundings with patches of gold and leafy green.

Through the break of the trees, Peter paused and almost cursed aloud. It was indeed a river, its flowing waters passing slowly and calmly in the still quiet of the forest. It was easily almost two hundred metres wide to its opposite bank. He would have to swim if he wanted to cross.   
A long study to both sides did not promise any narrowing of the river, nor was there any items he could use. Short of stopping to fell down a tree and making a raft, Peter did not have much options left. Although it was not exactly stated, Peter felt time was also a factor in this case. He did not have any woodcutting tools on hand, besides.

Swimming it is, he huffed to himself. He decided against taking off his clothes as he did not have anything to carry them in. And with the sunny weather he would be relatively dry soon enough. 

He walked slowly to the edge, eyeing the waters speculatively. It was clear, smelled clean and quite deep. He could barely make out further than that. 

He took a slow, cautionary step into the water.


	5. Of Sun-drenched Riverbanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter crossing the river. Nudity. Oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesssss! Another update. Yaaay me. That said, enjoy.

Peter stepped cautiously into the river. Gingerly testing with his booted toes he felt for the bottom but found no solid purchase. The edge of the riverbank seem to slope into a deep incline. Of course, he muttered to himself.

His eyes took a long look at his surroundings, ears cued for any telltale signs but nothing was out of place. 

Shrugging inwardly, he took a breath and stepped out into the water. 

The mild shock of cold nipped at him as the water soaked through his clothes. His booted feet kicked and he felt the inclined river's edge fall behind. He was barely propelled ten metres out and he already can’t feel the bottom of the river. 

He swam doggedly, darkly amused by his current predicament but decided that this was not so bad compared to other situations he had found himself in before. 

As he paddled, his eyes took a long look at his surroundings, ears cued for any telltale signs but it was quiet.

Deathly so.

And he realised that the common sounds of the forest he had left behind him was strangely absent. No chittering of insects nor the twittering of birds broke the silence. 

His wolf, hackles raised, surged up within him. No predator likes to be thought of as prey. He felt the shift coming on, but he held it at bay for now. Nothing smelled like a threat to him for now, the air crisp and clean with the rich smell of loam and ... fish?

The last thought barely registered in him before he was pulled under. 

Peter pulled his legs towards him, knees folding to his chest as he let the shift take over. A glimmer of scales caught his eyes in the swirling waters and he slashed with his left hand. A sharp shriek of pain assaulted his sensitive ears, almost skull crushing in its intensity. 

Whatever it was that dragged him down let go of his legs. Through the veil of red staining the water he caught sight of a green-dappled side of scales and long spine-edged fins before it darted away. A haunting moan echoed in the water, almost like a dolphin's cry before it faded back to silence.

His lungs burning for air, Peter burst through the surface with a powerful surge. He gasped a lungful of breath and hastened his strokes towards the opposite side. There was no telling if he managed to dissuade the creature from accosting him again, nor how many haunting this part of the river. 

His nose was almost useless to him for now, but a wolf still has other senses in play. He was still not expecting the next attack came—or rather, how it came.

He could almost feel the creature as it swam up from the depths of the river towards him with deadly speed. It broke the surface of the water in a leap before jacknifing down towards him tail first. The wicked spines of its tail fin was spread and wickedly searched for its target as gravity bore it down. 

Peter inhaled a gulp of air and dove down, angling to his right, as he tried to evade the creatively executed attack. He caught a better look at the creature, female humanoid upper body with a piscine lower half, clawed and webbed hands, and a mouthful of sharp teeth. 

Well, he has claws and sharp teeth to even up the field, too. He allowed his beta shift to come fully as the creature re-entered the water and with blinding speed turned to swat him with her tail. The spines of her fins scored a superficial scratch that Peter could feel healing even as it was acquired. He returned the attack by scoring both claws down the length of the tail within his reach.

A loud shriek echoed within the depths, waves of shocking force rumbling through the water’s dense medium. Were it not for his enhanced constitution, Peter knew it would have damaged him. As it was, the shockwaves of the shriek pushed him approximately two metres away from the creature.

She sped towards him, her eyes wholly black and blank but he felt he recognised that dusky skin and silky black hair.

Peter dodged her wild slashing claws, and was prepared for the tail slap by rolling under the moving limb and pulling—clawing—himself along her upper body. Snaking his left arm around her throat, he put her in a chokehold. His strong thighs constricting her abdoneb, she started bucking and flailing in the water. The moment he sensed her trying to dash for the deeper waters Peter jerked his arms—signalling that he will snap her neck. At an impasse, they both floated along the currents, buoyed by the water now that movement had ceased. 

“I yield,” the creature rasped out. 

She seem to seize and convulse slightly as Peter felt tremors running up and down the length of her form. The faint trace of salt and fish faded, her clawed hands—which was struggling to pry his arms—cracked and reformed to take a far human form, fingers long and delicate. As for her tail, he felt the texture of the scales smoothing down back to skin and Peter released her once he felt the change complete. 

Kicking away a slight distance, he treaded water, an eyebrow raised when Nisa turned to face him.

“Not bad,” she commented. “You were holding back, though.”

Peter grinned rakishly. “As were you,” he retorted, sounding slightly distracted by her nudity. The currents of the river distorted his view of her form, but he could see enough to judge he liked what he had seen so far. The challenging stare she returned told him she was not at all offended by his frank appraisal, just waiting for his next course of action.

“I was not sure if profaning the forest with blood would be acceptable, and second I recognise enough to guess it was you,” Peter finally answered. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he made for the opposite bank. “An avian and aquatic form. Predatory instincts.” He turned to her as she paddled along in his left. “You’re a siren.”

She smiled, pleased that he recognised the earmarks of her kind. “As you’ve met the requirements of the threefold task, I shall now show you to our Elders.”

 

Reaching the opposite side, Peter clambered ahead and turned to offer his hand to Nisa. She gamely accepted as he hoisted her up. She seemed unconcerned by her nudity, matter-of-factly asking him if he would like to have his wet clothes to be hung dry before continuing onwards. Peter considered it for a moment and decided an hour or delay trumps any misery tramping around in wet clothing.

While she worked to fashion a makeshift frame to hang his clothes, Peter stripped. He caught himself pausing every few seconds to unabashedly taking in the view afforded by the siren. 

She was long of limbs and has a lithe build—muscles sleek and toned in her arms and legs. Her back arched just so like a dancer’s, her breasts small and firm with dusky areolae topped by pert nipples. His wolf rumbled appreciatively at the sight.

“Here,” he said, handing over the bundle of sodden clothing to her.

She turned to grab them and stared at him for several seconds, not even hiding the shameless, appreciative gaze she gave him as her eyes wandered from his face and continuing downwards, pausing just as she reached the lower half of his torso—he (and his wolf) preened slightly when she inhaled slightly, the scent of desire and want tickling his senses. 

She met his eyes again and quirked a smile. “Somebody won the genetic lottery,” she tossed airily as she turned to hang his clothes. 

Hanging done, she turned to a clump of bushes and rooted around before extracting a mid-sized leather sack. She produced a blanket and a couple of towels for them, motioning him to the sun-drenched stretch of the riverbank for a spot of refreshment.

Peter tied his towel loosely on his hips while Nisa followed his example, leaving her topless. A naughty, irreverent part of Peter wondered what would the pack think if they saw him right now. He allowed himself a small chuckle at that.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked as she passed him a bottle of water and a generously assembled sandwich of smoked chicken breast. 

“I am thinking that I may have to re-categorize my bestiary,” he replied.

“Liar,” she chided softly with a small smile. “Sirens don’t detect chemosignals, but we are very good at inflections and vocal tones,” she continued at his raised eyebrows.

“Duly noted,” he nodded in understanding. He smiled wryly as he continued, “You could’ve compelled me to tell you the truth.”

“I could,” she agreed. “But you are a guest, and as such accorded certain courtesies.”

“Your people are quite formal, aren’t they?”

“Tales and stories you know regarding rules and etiquette when dealing with fey are mostly accurate,” she said, nodding at him. She paused for a drink of water before cocking her head to the side as she thought for a moment. “I suppose with society and times being what they are nowadays, our traditions and forms do look overly formal, if not antiquated.”

“I am in agreement with that,” he said with a small grin. “Speaking solely as an uninitiated guest, not as a representative of one of the more populous wolf pack in California.”

She waved his explanation away with a small laugh. “No offense taken, I assure you. Us sirens don’t really stand on ceremony.”

“So it would be correct to say that different feys have different types of government or power structure?”

“That’s correct,” she confirmed. “Werebeasts answer to their clans who answer to the chieftains, who in turn are beholden to the Lord of the Clan-chiefs. Sirens don’t have any governing body. Mentalists are meritocratic. Elementars are monarchical. Invokers tend to assimilate into whichever society they are in, and don’t even get me started on the spellweavers ...” she trailed off with a slight grimace on her face.

Peter laughed at her expression of dismay. “Fey politics sound very interesting,” he noted.

“Not for me, I’m afraid,” she shrugged prettily. She looked up to the sky, taking note of the position of the sun. “We had best get going, I suppose.”

Peter stood, helping her up and tidying the remains of their picnic. He found his clothes relatively dry—with only damp patches amongst the folded areas—and donned them. He found himself slightly miffed to find Nisa fully attired, but choked it down.

“After you,” he motioned forward to her.

“You just want to check out my ass,” she said with a small chuckle.

“Can you blame me? Beauty should be appreciated, after all.”

“I suppose it is flattering to be appreciated,” she said, nodding her agreement. She stepped into his space, her breasts pressing against him as she said, breathlessly, “Especially when it is mutual.”

She landed him a quick kiss, a hard hungry press of her lips before flitting away swiftly. A low, throaty chuckle floated to him as she did so. Peter couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed.

After the moment of levity was over, he smoothed his face into a wide smile as he chased after her retreating figure.


	6. Of Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter met an Avenger, and the Council of Elders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Chapter 2 of "Threads ..."

 

Peter looked around him at the immense foyer. Columns of marble flanked the sides as ye walked following Nisa, guiding him onwards to an arched opening that led to a large hallway. Marble benches decorated with soft cushions lined the hall, silver threads chased fabrics of various colours.

One of the benches was occupied by a tall blonde man. He was tall, and broad of shoulders, echoed in the rest of his powerful frame. He was however, dressed simply in faded khakis and flannel shirt with a worn bomber jacket completing the ensemble. He looked up when he heard their footfalls upon the marble flooring.

A smile broke through his handsome face, sky blue eyes lighting up in pleasure. “Anisah,” he greeted the siren. He stood up and offered a handshake.

The siren forewent the offered handshake and instead caught the man in a hug. “Steven,” she replied. “I was wondering when you would be visiting us again.”

Peter, despite himself, felt the faint tinge of jealousy colouring his mood at the familiarity shown by the siren.

“This is Peter,” Nisa said, drawing his attention. “He’s come to meet with the Elders.”

“Steve Rogers,” the blonde said with a smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Peter Hale,” he returned, shaking hands with the other man.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Nisa asked the blonde.

“Just accompanying Nat,” he answered. “She’s with Chris and Arden now in the library. We’re meeting up for dinner later.”

Nisa gave a small gasp. “Are the rumours true, then?” she asked hesitantly. “Is the Wytchdottir _alive_?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” he sighed, raking one hand and through his hair.

“If there’s anything I could help with, let me know,” Nisa said, hugging the man before taking their leave.

Peter nodded at the other man before he followed, piecing together a little puzzle that had formed in his mind throughout the exchange.

Keeping pace with Nisa, he asked, “Was that _Captain America_?”

“You recognised him?” Nisa asked, sounding pleased. “He’s a sweetie, isn’t he?”

Peter huffed a small laugh. “I survived all sorts of supernatural conflicts, rabid hunters and am about to meet the ruling council of feys. Oh, and I just met an Avenger. I think I can die happy now.”

“You should have taken a selfie and send it to your pack.”

“True,” Peter agreed. “Maybe we can crash their dinner? That way, I can get selfies with both Cap _and_ the Black Widow!”

“I shall make that happen,” Nisa promised with a grin.

 

  
***

 

Arden Ciarr, ruler of the shadow elementars, was not very remarkable in appearance. Peter took in the slim runners build and olive skin seated in front of him, towards his left. He was dressed in a dark gray shirt and black jeans. His bare feet peeked beneath the hems of his jeans. Nothing about him gave any indication that this being is the ruler of an interdimensional faerie realm, and wielded powers that could make an Asgardian pause.

On the other hand, his companion was every inch the ruler she was purported to be. Christabel Adaré, the Mentalist Prime, radiated power. Her ice-blue eyes gazed at him unflinchingly, surrounded by their crimson sclera. The aloof hauteur she carried herself with puts Lydia to shame.

On her left, an African-American woman attired in a simple blouse and prairie skirt sat. Hanalee Williams, the Great Mother of the Witches, has a friendly mien and she had smiled at them in welcome when they were introduced.

The fourth and last member of the Council present was a great bear of a man. Bran McCormack's coarse features were what some would call ruggedly handsome, though his chosen attire of threadbare cotton tunic, ripped jeans and worn sandals jarred Peter’s fastidious sensibilities.

“So you seek knowledge, and nothing else?” Lady Adaré asked, her voice clipped and sharp.

“Only pertaining to werewolves, milady,” he confirmed. “And should the threads lead to other areas, I would like to pursue them as well.”

“That’s a task that could take months, if not years,” Lord Bran rumbled in his baritone voice.

“It may,” Peter said, not quite agreeing or denying the statement.

Lord Arden's eyes crinkled in amusement. He let out a small laugh. “I like him,” he declared firmly. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t he?”

Lady Adaré's cool visage thawed somewhat, a quirk of her lips giving way to a small smile. “Sweet Shakti, don’t remind me,” she groused good-naturedly.

“I suppose there is no harm in forming an alliance with the McCall pack, is there?” Mother Hanalee ventured. “He stumbled upon his lead on his own, he is clearly aware of the need for discretion, and by his very nature and those of his pack he knows well the repercussions of being found out.”

“Forgive me, milady,” Peter smoothly swept in. “I am not in a position to parlay for terms of alliance nor am I authorised by my Alpha to do so. Furthermore, we are nit exactly a traditional pack, with other supernatural types as well as humans as our members and allies.”

Lord Arden appeared intrigued by his pronouncement. He laid a knowing glance at Lady Adaré and turned to the other two Elders. “I told you times are changing.”

“Don’t gloat, dear,” Mother Hanalee retorted pertly. She shook her head. “We learned that hard lesson two years ago, didn’t we?”

“We all did,” Lady Adaré agreed, a pall falling across her face.

The four Elders looked at one another, seemingly conversing telepathically. With what snippets Nisa had told him about the Elders before their audience he surmised that his assumption was correct.

The wait seemed interminable, until at last all four Elders turned to him.

“We accept your request for information,” Mother Hanalee pronounced. “We also offer an alliance with your pack.”

“I thank you for your generosity on both counts,” Peter nodded his acknowledgment.

“You will return to your pack day after tomorrow, bearing our welcome and token of esteem from us,” Lord McCormack added.

“But my research isn’t over!” Peter exclaimed.

Lady Adaré shook her head. “There is nothing more left on this path for you to discover, Master Hale,” she advised. “The next path lies beyond this mortal realm.”

“You mean it lies in ... ?”

“The Feywilds,” Lord Arden finished for him. “You will have two of our people as our envoys to present to your pack and thus to mediate and negotiate the finer wordings of the alliance. Upon completion, you and your pack are invited as my guests to visit us in the Feywilds.”

Peter’s mind boggled at the last part of the statement. A visit to another world! He knew Stiles would be beside himself in excitement at such news.

He took a deep breath to centre himself. There was only one way to respond.

“I accept the offer, pending acceptance from my Alpha and on behalf of my pack,” he returned solemnly.

“Done,” Lady Adaré intoned with equal solemnity. She turned to level a look to Nisa who was standing at attention to the side of the room behind Peter. “Anisah,” she ventured. “Would you consent to be one of the envoys in this enterprise?”

“I would love to, Lady Adaré,” Nisa said but her expression turned rueful. “But unfortunately Beacon Hills is situated quite a ways from the ocean.”

“Simplicity itself,” Mother Hanalee interjected, waving off the siren’s dismay. “We have an item that can remedy that particular challenge.”

“If that is the case, I happily accept my new charge,” Nisa replied.

Lord Arden stood. “Then we may adjourn for the day,” he announced. “Shall we repair for the dining hall? I believe it would be churlish to make our friends wait longer than necessary.”

“Yes, let’s,” Mother Hanalee agreed. “Steve and Natasha have been sporting enough to wait for us and the moon knows they need to make haste.”

“Would you like to join us?” he offered the invitation to both Peter and Nisa.

Peter glanced at Nisa, who had since sidled up to his side.

“Selfies,” she murmured a reminder softly, lips barely moving. Her eyes, however, twinkled with excitement.

Peter turned to smile widely at the shadowfey lord. “We would be delighted.”

 

 

 


	7. Of Lydia and Kira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Kira picking up Peter from the airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick update. Yaay, me. Suck it, life :-)  
> Enjoy.  
> Kudos and comments welcomed.

Lydia cradled her phone loosely in her right hand. She had just ended her call with Peter. Her brows furrowed slightly byat the vague detail he vague imparted—they will be hosting two envoys seeking an alliance with the pack. Besides that, the wolf had been evasive in his answers. All he would say was that his research paused in Washington but will pick up once he returned to Beacon Hills.

As the Pack's secondary emissary, Lydia held the fort while Stiles was tied up with his work in the FBI. Thanks to Rafe McCall, Stiles had managed to be posted in San Diego, and the pack had twice spent the weekend gathered at the apartment Derek had generously obtained for him there.

Lydia Martin had a rather turbulent and edgy relationship with Peter. He had once terrorised her as a psychic phantom and used her to bring about his resurrection. He was sarcastic and oily, but despite seemingly self-serving he stayed close to the pack and aided them through some of their more harrowing situations. Peter had found himself a niche within their pack; as someone both widely read and well-travelled, he became their go-to person for research and obscure references. Stiles and Lydia had often marvelled at his collection of rare arcana in his library.

A knock on her door cut her ruminations short. “Mom?” she asked, spying her mother leaning against the doorway with a small smile.

“Kira is here,” her mother informed her.

Natalie Martin came in, and her fingers gently brushed her daughter’s Titian-red hair back from her face. Reflection of mother and daughter stared back at the duo.

“That’s a nice blouse,” Lydia commented. She turned to face her mother. “You have a date?”

Natalie shrugged, a faint blush tinging her face. “Rafe and I are picking up desserts for the potluck dinner,” she answered, somewhat evasively. She fluttered a hand, a nervous habit Lydia recognised she did when she’s nervous.

The parents of the pack members had achieved some sort of solidarity and frequently met to commiserate or support each other during the occasional overwhelming periods of stress in dealing with their children’s involvement in the supernatural. The idea of potluck dinners and brunches had been suggested by Jenna Geyer, Liam’s mother. Natalie, seeing the benefits in the long run had immediately thrown her support behind the other woman.

Lydia raised her eyebrows at her mother’s answer. “Mom,” the readhead said slowly, “It’s only two o’clock now.”

Natalie looked at her daughter with some asperity. “I may have suggested that we meet for a late lunch.”

“So it’s a date then?”

“Maybe?” Natalie grinned. She gave her daughter a long solemn look. “Do you find it weird that I'm dating?” she asked. Her gaze softened as she continued. “I know that you and Stiles are planning to give your relationship another go ...”

It had been their mutual decision to place their relationship on hold while Lydia was finishing up at MIT and Stiles still training at Quantico. They agreed that once they have two to three years settled into their adult lives to give their relationship another go. Lydia had not foreseen the almost crippling bouts of loneliness she had felt without Stiles in her life. And then Kira returned, her sojourn with the skinwalkers over. The kitsune had acquired a second and third tail during her time spent with them, and her increased proficiency with the katana had given credence to her expanded skills. Her cheerful disposition slotted alongside hers almost seamlessly, filling in the void that Allison’s death had left. The banshee and the kitsune bonded, almost outsiders from a pack made up of humans and weres.

Lydia smiled at her mom. “No, not weird Mom.” She stood up and hugged her mom. “I’d better get going, we're picking up Peter from the airport.”

“I was wondering about that,” Natalie mused aloud. “I thought he was supposed to be in Seattle? Jenna mentioned it last week.”

“I guess we’ll find out later?” Lydia replied. She picked up her jacket and gave her mom a kiss on the cheek before rushing out. “Bye, mom!” she called out, clattering down the stairs in her heels.

Kira looked up with a smile as she entered the living room. “Your mom looks hot,” the kitsune commented as they got into her car. “She got a date?”

“It’s just lunch with Rafe,” Lydia said with a shrug, trying to downplay it on her mom’s behalf. If her mom wasn’t ready to call her outing a date she wasn’t going to jump the gun as well.

“Is it just me,” Kira wondered aloud, “Or is it starting to become a bit ...”

“Incestous?”

Kira made a moue of distaste at the word. “I was trying not to use that word but the only alternative I can cone up with was—”

“Inbred?” Lydia ventured impishly.

“Lydia!” Kira exclaimed, horrified. She spoiled her initial reaction by bursting into giggles. “How serious do you think it is? Is Scott and Melissa ok with it?”

The redhead leaned against her seat, toying with the seatbelt. “Honestly,” Lydia opined quietly, “I think this is still new for her. After my dad left, she never gone on dates so ...”

Kira nodded as Lydia trailed off. “She knows what she’s doing,” she assured her friend. “And it sounds like Rafe seemed to have got his act together from what Mel told my mom.”

Rafe McCall's past as an abusive husband and father had raised its ugly spectre at first but with surprising advocates in the combined duo of Chris Argent, and Derek Hale—not to mention his role during their conflict with the Anuk-ite and Monroe’s followers—the man had earned his role as a valuable ally to their pack. Rafe had made it his personal responsibility to lead the case against Monroe as well as linking her to other anti-supernatural related cases through the last four years. The network he had helped established brought the pack two valuable alliances with other werewolf packs—one in San Diego and another in Oregon—along with increased prominence in the region.

The ride to airport passed uneventfully, until Kira raised a point that she meant to bring up earlier when Lydia had requested her help with picking up Peter. “Did Peter buy out a store or something while he’s there?”

Lydia snickered at that. “I wouldn’t put it past him,” she admitted. “But no, he said he’s bringing company. Two envoys seeking to form an alliance with us.”

Kira perked up at the answer. “Do you know which pack?” she asked.

Lydia shook her head. “They’re not wolves. Not even other types of supernatural we’ve met before.”

Kira glanced at her. “I’m not sure if I should be excited or worried now,” she admitted.

“With Peter?” Lydia said with a slight grimace, “I’d lean towards worried.”

Kira laughed as she pulled up to the pick-up spot. “Whoa,” she breathed out, “I think he picked up a harem.”

Lydia’s eyebrows went up at Kira’s declaration, until she saw what the other woman meant.

Two women were standing in line with Peter. The first was a dusky-skinned beauty of Indian descent. She was dressed casually in a cotton blouse and jeans, her long limbs toned and fit. Lydia surmised that she’s a fighter.

The other woman was her direct opposite in looks. She was petite, with an elfin crop of pale-blonde hair and very pale--almost chalk-white. She was dressed in a blush-coloured shell and grey slacks. Though plain, her attire had that indefinable air that screamed “designer” to Lydia’s discerning eyes. Everything about her seemed ethereal, soft and delicate until Lydia saw her dark eyes—they were hard as agates and devoid of emotion. Even though her face was expressionless, she managed to exude a sense of revulsion, as if she found the laughing exchange Peter was having with her companion distasteful.

“Huh,” Kira commented, meeting Lydia’s eyes. “What bug crawled up her butt?”

“I guess we finally found that one woman Peter couldn’t charm?”

Kira snorted with laughter as she pulled up the SUV alongside the curb. Introductions were made as names were exchanged—Nisa (the brunette) and Aggie (the blonde). They hefted the luggage into the back and five minutes later found themselves back on the way back to Beacon Hills.

 


	8. Of Theo and Hayden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayden and Theo discuss their new guests.

 

Theo Raeken does not trust easily. He knew that character trait wasn’t exactly endearing if the wary glances Hayden tended to throw his way. He knew that she had good reason behind her caginess; he had been her alpha and in the end betrayed his pack by killing them. It was blind chance that she was not present during the moment of that particular betrayal that had saved her. However, despite the occasional wary glances she had managed to put her misgivings aside and the two had come upon slowly to a guarded respect and understanding.

Like now, she was standing in front of his door with a casserole dish in her hands. From the smell, he knew it was one of Jenna’s seafood casserole—his favourite. The rueful look she gave him was almost comical. Theo stood aside and invited her in. She nodded her thanks and stepped through the doorway, making her way to his kitchen.

“Jenna and David said hi,” she tossed over her shoulder as she served up two generous portions for them.

“They’re good people,” he said softly with a fond smile.

Theo often looked back at the two years spent living with the Geyers as the time he found his purpose and a sense of belonging. Jenna Geyer had been dismayed when she learned he was living in his truck and insisted firmly that he come live with them. David Geyer had been just as welcoming, if not slightly distant in the beginning. Slowly, through the intervening months both adults had come to play the role of parents in Theo’s life. Especially heartwarming was when the adult Geyers introduce both Liam and Theo as “our boys” to their circle of acquaintances.

His life took an unexpected turn when Peter Hale offered him a job as his personal assistant. In that typically maddening flip way of his, he had tossed Theo the key to his apartment and an envelope containing fifteen thousand dollars in cash. “Get a bank account,” he had said with a smirk, “and some decent clothes.”

Jenna found his dazed self with the two items cradled in his lap when she returned from her trip to the store. Upon learning of Peter’s offer she had called Scott and Lydia for advice.

Scott had been wary, but didn’t offer any opinion. Lydia, on the other hand had provided a thoughtful and well-informed opinion on what to decide, ending with “at least look at it this way, you’re twenty-one already. A job as someone’s PA wouldn’t look amiss on your resume.”

He had stewed on his own for several days, until calling Peter with his decision.

“Theo,” Peter had drawled over the phone. “I have been expecting your call.”

“I accept your offer,” the chimera said without preamble. “I also want you to teach me.”

There was a heavy pause until Peter demanded, “Explain.”

“You were the second in command back then,” Theo pointed out after swallowing his nervousness. “Their enforcer. The pack needs someone to keep them safe.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“I want the Geyers to be safe,” Theo replied. “And Melissa, and Mrs Martin, too. Any human—no, anyone—who decides to ally themselves with the pack.”

Peter hummed, slowly digesting his answer. “I suppose two heads are better than one,” he agreed. “I’ll take you on, Theo,” the older man said before continuing, “it won’t be easy.”

Theo took a slow breath. “They’re worth it,” he bit out. “The pack is worth it.”

Even through the phone, he could sense Peter’s tacit approval. “Very well, then. Your training starts tomorrow.”

Peter and Theo had made a surprisingly good team, to the chimera's surprise. Peter taught him all that he knew of werewolf traditions and lore, while Peter occasionally pleased the older wolf with his unique brand of ruthlessness and cunning. He had been one of the envoys Scott had brought with him—along with Liam, Stiles, and Lydia—to their meeting with the Reyes pack in San Diego to hammer out the details of an alliance. The thrum of contentment he felt at the pack bonds settled him as he took a step back from Scott's and Stiles' discussion with Christobal, the alpha and his second Yolanda.

Theo Raeken did not trust easily. But at that moment, enfolded in the bonds of pack singing in his veins, he knew he could trust himself to move forward from his past.

“You feel it, too?” Liam had asked him, after they’ve retired for the night. “The pack bond?”

Theo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Liam laughed as he roughly hugged the other man.

“I told you we’re pack,” he reminded Theo.

Theo laughed softly, Liam’s exuberance catching. “No,” he rebutted. “You’re family.”

Liam grinned, joy suffusing him. “I knew that you love us all along!”

Theo smiled widely at the memory. It made Hayden pause mid-chew when she caught his expression.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, curious.

Theo shook his head. “Just thinking of Liam,” he answered.

Hayden smiled. Since hers and Kira’s return two years ago, the young woman had rekindled her romance with Liam. Of course she was privy to Liam’s many humourous antics. She turned a thoughtful gaze at him. “Have you met them?” she asked him.

Theo nodded. He knew whom she meant. The two women who had accompanied Peter from his return to Seattle had sent the pack abuzz with curiosity.

“I have,” he confirmed.

“What do you think about them?” she asked him. “Should we look into them or run a background check?”

To the pack’s surprise, Hayden had slowly but surely ingratiated herself to both Theo and Peter. Peter had taken it upon himself to make her their apprentice of sorts. As a backup, he had explained to Scott. The alpha had wanted to argue the point but Stiles, Derek and Lydia had shut him down. Hayden had proved to be equal to the task and took to her new role like a duck to water. On paper, she was Peter’s second assistant and received a similar employment package Theo got. Minus the dig about getting appropriate clothing.

Theo thought of her suggestion but shook his head no. “Peter won’t bring a known hostile into our territory, even if he can’t prove their agenda.”

Hayden deflated. “That’s true.” She made a moue of distaste at uer next words. “It’s just weird. They don’t have any scent! Unless you count Chanel No. 5 as one.”

Theo laughed at the jibe. “You caught that too, huh?”

“Nisa seems nice enough,” Hayden opined. She pursed her lips, a small frown appearing on her face. “There’s just something a bit ... off, with her.”

“She’s a man-eater,” Theo supplied.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hayden riffed. “She got Peter wrapped around her stiletto heels.”

Theo laughed at the sally but sobered up quickly. “No, I meant it literally.”

“ _What?!?_ ” Hayden’s shriek had her pitch climbing several octaves.

“She’s a siren,” he explained. “It’s part of their nature. Sirens need to consume a sentient being's heart every quarter of the year or they’ll die.”

Hayden snorted her distaste at the information. She thought for a moment before tilting her head at him. “How did you know that?”

“I had a meeting with Scott when Peter introduced them. They came clean about certain things like Nisa's diet.”

“ _Their_ diet?” Hayden asked, emphasis on the first word.

“Aggie is a silvarren,” he supplied. “An elf,” he added at Hayden’s quizzical look. “Half-elf, to be accurate.”

“Huh. She’s missing the pointy ears.”

“She has a permanent illusion spell to make her appearance look human.”

Hayden stood suddenly, her voice saying decidedly as gathered her plate up. “I think Kira and I will take Nisa out for a girls day out.”

“Not Aggie?” Theo asked curiously.

“Aggie’s yours,” she said with a devilish grin.

Theo rolled his eyes as he huffed out a laugh. It’s time to get back to work.

 

 


	9. Of Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banshee versus Siren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, kudos and comments welcomed.

 

Theo winced as Lydia’s supernatural scream ripped free throughout the woods. Not far from him, Hayden and the elf Aggie were holding a murmured conversation. Lydia had volunteered for a friendly spot of war games. Against Nisa.

Banshee versus siren. So far the siren's heightened agility allowed her to narrowly evade one barrage of screams after another.

Lydia’s small shriek reverberated, warping the air in front of her as waves of compacted sonics were projected by her banshee powers. The concussive force of the attack hammered into the trunk of a tree, missing her intended target. Sprays of splinters and shredded bark burst, making the redhead take several steps back to avoid them. Nisa was nowhere in sight.

Lydia had a split second warning before the sound of flapping wings accompanied the impact of a five-foot-eight siren barrelling into her. Lydia fell but managed to execute a tumble to her right to get back up on her feet. She let loose a wide cone of banshee wail.

The sixty feet cone of sound shimmered and warped in the air in front of her as the sonic waves washed over everything in its path. Nisa had folded her wings around her, and there was a humming sound she had produced. Lydia's sonic attack parted before the siren, as if bisected by an invisible wall of pure force. Leaving the siren unharmed.

Shocked, Lydia’s scream faltered and the waves of destructive sonics sputtered. The siren chose that moment of lag and attacked. Holding Lydia’s wide-eyed stare, she breathed out, “Stop!” her voice threaded with power.

The banshee could feel the compulsion worming its way into her mind, entreating her to cease screaming. She resisted, pushing back the insidious mental command by force of will. However, the effort cost her her concentration on her scream and Nisa had closed the ten metre distance to land a low spinning back kick to her legs. Having felled the banshee, the siren leapt and pounced in her prone form bashing the back of Lydia’s head against the loamy ground. The thud of her head hitting the ground disoriented Lydia, that she almost missed the sound of fabric tearing and cracking of bones breaking and resetting. Shifting.

Her vision cleared after a few seconds and she let a gasp escape. Crouched over her prone form is a creature that resembled an archeopteryx. The face is slightly reptilian, with wholly black eyes and an almost bill-like mouth filled with serrated teeth. It was covered with feathers, from the soft feathered ruff around the neck down to the tail. Wings with clawed pinions completed the image, one of the clawed pinion resting against her sternum. A low thrum the creature emitted held her transfixed, as if entranced and sedated. The mouth slowly opened, sharp teeth all too visible to the banshee.

“Anisah!” a sharp voice cried out in warning.

The creature--Nisa—paused, its head swivelling slowly towards the direction the third voice came from. The slender, petite silhouette of Aggie, accompanied by Hayden and Theo, stepped out into the clearing where they were. Nisa eyed them for a long moment before slowly crawling backwards from where she had Lydia pinned to the ground. She never removed her eyes from them as she did, her gaze predatory and deadly. Even as she backed away, she slowly shifted back into her human form.

Lydia winced as she observed the metamorphosis. She had seen the wolves shifting into their beta forms numerous times but watching the siren going through her own shift is something else entirely. The wolves' beta shift in the end still resulted in a humanoid form but the siren is another thing altogether. The monstrous bird-like form seemed to fold into itself amidst the cracking and tearing sounds of bones and muscle realigning and reforming into a different shape. Occasionally there are grunts of pain—sudden and aborted—from the siren. Several moments passed and Nisa's nude form was before her. She asked wryly for her backpack, seemingly unconcerned by her state of undress. Hayden found the backpack from where the siren had left it among the base of a young elm and lobbed it to her.

“That looked painful,” Hayden commented.

Nisa snorted. “Like the bloody devil,” she agreed.

Theo looked at her askance. He was mindful to keep his eyes fixed above the siren’s neckline. “Don’t you heal, though?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Nisa answered, shrugging on a plain cotton shell. “Sirens don’t have werebeasts' regenerative abilities. We feel the pain of the shift after which, they’ll subside.” She paused meaningfully. “And frequently shifting requires more feeding.”

Theo, Lydia, and Hayden sucked in collective breaths. “Right,” Theo noted. “And you keep your feeding to a minimum.”

“Once every quarter of the year,” Nisa confirmed.

Lydia turned a shrewd eye to the siren. “Does it have to be a humanoid creature?”

“Any sentient being’s heart would do. Human, fae, demon. Theoretically, even an angel.” A smirk. “Though that would be nigh impossible.”

“How come?”

“Because the least of the Heavenly Hosts is equally powerful as the mightiest of fae.” Her lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Sirens might be predators but we’re far from being the most powerful fae. Our numbers have always been small to begin with.”

There was a deep silence in the wooded clearing as the three pack members digested the information.

“Aren’t you worried?” Hayden asked. “The bad guys must have known about your weaknesses?”

Nisa laughed hollowly. “I’m one of the few sirens aligned with the Light. Majority of sirens sided with the Dark. I’m sure you can see why.”

Theo, Hayden and Lydia nodded in understanding.

Lydia motioned to Nisa. “What was that humming you did?”

“That? It’s called a countersong. Basically it creates an opposing wave of sonics to either repel or nullify sonic-based attacks.” Nisa smiled. “I’ll teach you over the weekend. The practical applications are quite varied in combat.”

“I look forward to it,” the banshee said with a small smile.

Theo glanced at the quiet elf standing apart from their cluster. “You alright there?” he called out.

The ethereal elf turned, her eyes distant. “Quite, thanks,” she said softly. Her voice was a low lyrical alto, the syllables musical. “I have always been fond of woods.”

“Is that an elf thing, or just you?”

Aggie raised an eyebrow at him. “A bit of both, you could say.” She looked around her, taking in the spread of greenery around them. “There is power here, in this soil. Young still, slightly tainted but ... there is potential for good.” She tilted her head, her eyes glazed as she seemed to commune with something else the others could not fathom. “I sometimes feel it brushing against my consciousness, as if curious. Wary, but curious.”

Theo exchanged a glance with Lydia. The elf seemed to sense the presence of the Nemeton. Scott had not mentioned anything about disclosing the ancient tree’s unique properties so they remained silent on that point.

“Your discretion does your pack credit,” Aggie said, nodding in approval. “Rest easy, I seek not the ancient power, unless she calls for me.”

She turned around to give a last round of regard at the forest around them. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded to herself before motioning to the others.

“Come,” she entreated. “I believe that we owe you a story of how werewolves and their kin come into being.”

 

 


End file.
